The King's Buccaneer by Raymond E. Feist
Nicholas shook his head. “Never tell anyone. Do you understand?”
Harry nodded, with no hint of his usual braggadocio, looking like nothing more than a scared little boy. “I won’t.”
Nicholas left his friend and returned to his own room. He entered and his heart almost seized up as he discovered Pug sitting upon his bed.
“Close the door.”
Nicholas complied and Pug said, “Ryana could not long live on the meager food she could eat at supper and maintain her pretense. She will hunt for the next few hours.”
Nicholas’s face was pale. For the first time in his life he felt far from home and the comfort of his father’s protection and his mother’s love. He knew Pug was considered a family member, but he was also a magician of mighty arts, and Nicholas had seen something not meant for him to see. “I won’t say anything,” he whispered.
Pug smiled. “I know. Sit down.”
Nicholas sat down next to Pug on the bed, and Pug said, “Give me your foot.”
Nicholas didn’t have to ask which one and lifted his left leg so that Pug could examine the deformed foot. Pug studied it for several moments, then said, “Years ago, your father asked me if I could mend your foot. Did he tell you?”
Nicholas shook his head. He still was frightened enough by what he had just witnessed that he didn’t trust his voice not to break if he spoke.
Pug studied the boy. “At the time I had heard of this deformity, and of the efforts to correct it.”
Nicholas whispered, “Many tried.”
“I know.” Pug stood and walked to the window, looking out at the clear night brilliant with stars. Turning back toward Nicholas, he said, “I told Arutha that I could not. That was not true.”
Nicholas asked, “Why?”
Pug said, “Because no matter how much your father loves you, Nicholas—and Arutha loves his children deeply, no matter how difficult it is for him to show it—no parent has the right to change a child’s nature.”
Nicholas said, “I’m not sure I understand.” The fear within was subsiding, and the boy asked, “Why would healing me be wrong?”
Pug said, “I don’t know if I can make you understand yet, Nicholas.” He returned and sat next to the boy. “We each of us have it within to make ourselves over, if we choose to do so. Most of us not only do not try, but don’t even acknowledge that ability to ourselves.
“By any understanding of magic I possess, the healing used upon you when you were young should have worked. Something prevented those spells from being effective.”
Nicholas frowned. “I don’t understand. Are you saying I wasn’t letting them heal me?”
Pug nodded. “Something like that. But it’s not quite so simple.”
Nicholas said, “I would give anything to be normal.”
Pug stood. “Would you?”
Nicholas was silent for a long moment, then said, “I think I would.”
Pug smiled, his manner reassuring. “Go to sleep, Nicholas.” He withdrew something from a large pocket in his robe and placed it upon the night table. “This amulet is a gift. It is much like one I gave your father. Should you need me for anything, grip it tightly in your right hand while you wear it, and say my name three times. I will come.”
Nicholas picked up the amulet and saw it bore the symbol of the three dolphins he had seen in the fountains around the magician’s estate. “Why?”
Pug’s smile broadened. “Because I’m a cousin, and a friend. And in days to come, you may need both. And because I’m letting you and your friend keep a trust.”
“The Lady Ryana.”
“She is very young, and foolish to be seen so. In her race, the first stages of life are spent with little more thought than that of common animals. Every ten years the dragon hides in a cave to shed its skin, emerging a different color each time. Not a few perish during that time, for molting in the dark, they are helpless. Only those that live the longest span, surviving many human lifetimes, emerge with a golden skin and awareness. When intelligence at last comes, it is an unsettling thing. The sudden consciousness of self, and the sense of a larger universe, to a creature that is already old by human standards is a very great shock. In ancient times, other of her race would teach her.” Pug opened the door. “There are few of the greater dragons left. Ryana’s mother once aided me on a quest, so I help the child. It would not be wise to let men know that among them walk those who are not men.”
Nicholas said, “Father has told me that over time there will be many things I shall learn that I cannot tell others about. I understand.”
Pug said nothing more as he closed the door. Nicholas lay back upon the bed, but sleep was a long time coming.
3
CRYDEE
The ship dropped anchor.
Crydee bustled with midday activity as the dock crew made the Royal Eagle secure. Nicholas examined his new home, drinking in the novelty of it. His bouts of homesickness had returned during the long voyage, only vanishing while passing through the dangerous Straits of Darkness, which had taken an eventful day and a half. Then northward past Tulan and Carse, and now to Crydee.
The town had grown in the last twenty years, with signs of expansion everywhere. As they had sailed northward, Amos had pointed out where a fishing village had grown up south of the promontory he named Sailor’s Grief. New buildings were visible high upon a distant hillside to the southeast as the ship entered the harbor. Nicholas squinted against the bright sun reflected off the white façades of the buildings. He saw two carriages and a pair of wagons draw up and halt before a building bedecked by a large royal standard, which proclaimed it the customs house. Servants sitting atop the rear of the carriages leaped from their stations and opened the doors. From the first emerged a tall woman, followed by a taller man. Nicholas recognized them as his aunt and uncle. A flurry of activity followed as the other vehicles came to a halt.
Amos ordered the gangway run out. Nicholas and Harry stood nearby waiting to disembark. Duke Martin, Duchess Briana, and their court stood ready to welcome the Royal Prince and his companions. Amos saw the reception below and said, “Well, we know at least one pigeon made it from Ylith.”
For the twenty-eight years since the Riftwar, a relay of messengers between Krondor and the Far Coast had been kept intact, including fast horses and carrier pigeons. With the sudden decision to send Nicholas made only the day before he departed, word of his impending arrival reached Crydee just days before they came into sight of the harbor.
As the sailors made ready, Harry said, “Who are those girls?”
Nicholas had noticed the two young girls who had accompanied the Duke and said, “I expect one of them is my cousin Margaret. I don’t know who the other one is.”
Harry grinned. “I’ll find out.”
When the gangway was out, Amos turned to Nicholas and formally said, “Your Highness?”—indicating that Nicholas was expected to be the first one off the ship.
Harry stepped forward, to discover Amos’s hand planted firmly on his chest. “By rank, Squire,” he said pointedly.
Harry blushed and took a step back.
Nicholas descended to the quay and a tall man stepped forward. Martin, Duke of Crydee, smiled warmly as he bowed to his nephew. “Your Highness, we are most pleased to welcome you to Crydee.” Martin resembled Arutha slightly, but was taller and heavier. His hair was nearly all grey, and his face was lined by sun and age, yet there was an air of strength about him that was clear for anyone to see. This was no sedentary noble who spent his days drinking wine and issuing orders to servants. This was a man who despite his age still spent nights sleeping on the ground under star-filled skies and who carried game home upon his back.
Nicholas smiled, a little embarrassed at the ceremony, and said, “Uncle, I am pleased to be here.”
Amos was second off the ship, and said, “Your Grace,” as he clapped Martin roughly on the shoulder.
All formality evaporated as Martin threw his arms
Martin returned his attention to the Prince. “Your Highness. May I present my wife, the Duchess Briana.” Nicholas had not seen her since he was a toddler, and his memories of her were vague. It was like meeting her for the first time. A tall woman inclined her head toward Nicholas. Her hair, grey with a startling white streak at the left temple, flowed back from a high brow. There was nothing pretty about the Duchess, but she was a striking woman. Blue eyes set with lines from weather and age regarded the Prince from a face otherwise free of any mark of aging, though she was past fifty. She wore a very practical-looking outfit of leather vest over a silk shirt and trousers tucked into high boots. “M’lady,” said Nicholas, taking her extended hand and squeezing it slightly in greeting. The grip he received was strong, and Nicholas knew the tales of his uncle’s strange lady were mostly true. From the fallen city of Armengar—where women were soldiers alongside the men—Lady Briana could ride, hunt, and fight better than most men, from all reports. Looking at her, Nicholas didn’t doubt it.
Martin continued the introductions. “This is my son, Marcus.” Nicholas turned to his cousin and hesitated; there was something vaguely familiar about him. Brown eyes and brown hair: Nicholas judged he must resemble someone back in Krondor. The same height as Nicholas, Marcus wore his hair the same length as the Prince. But Marcus was almost two years senior to Nicholas and slightly heavier in build. Marcus gave Nicholas a stiff bow and stepped back.
Nicholas said, “Cousin,” and nodded.
Amos came up to stand behind Nicholas and said to Martin, “Remember when I first gleaned that you were Arutha’s brother?”
Martin said, “How could I forget? That was my first voyage, and you almost drowned us all.”
“Saved your worthless skin with my masterful sailing, you mean,” answered Amos. Waving a hand at Nicholas and Marcus, he said, “But if the world ever needed proof of your parentage, there it stands revealed.” He stroked his chin. “I think we’ll have to paint one of them green so we can tell them apart.”
Nicholas looked at Amos in confusion, but Marcus’s face was an unreadable mask. Amos said, “The resemblance.”
Nicholas said, “What resemblance?”
“To each other,” answered the admiral.
Nicholas turned to regard his cousin. “Do you think…?”
Marcus shook his head slightly. “I don’t see it…Highness.”
Amos laughed and said, “You never will.”
Martin continued the introductions. “Highness, this is my daughter, Margaret.”
One of the two young girls curtsied. Her hair was dark like her brother’s, but she resembled her mother. Nature had given her a straight nose and high cheekbones, but with a less severe cast than Briana’s. She wore her hair long to her shoulders, like her mother, without any adornment. Dark eyes glanced up at the Prince as he said, “A pleasure, cousin.” She smiled at the greeting, and instantly she was lovely.
Nicholas’s gaze drifted to the young woman at Margaret’s side, and he felt his chest tighten. Cornflower-blue eyes that seemed the largest he had ever encountered regarded him. Suddenly he felt clumsy and unsure of himself. Margaret said, “This is my companion, the Lady Abigail, daughter of Baron Bellamy of Carse.” The slender girl curtsied and Nicholas was certain he had never seen anyone do it so gracefully. Unlike Margaret, Abigail had her blond hair gathered up in a silver circlet behind her head, where it cascaded in ringlets. Her skin was pale and clear and her features delicate. She smiled as she arose from her curtsy, and Nicholas couldn’t help but smile back. After a moment the smile became a silly grin.
The sound of a throat clearing behind him brought Nicholas from his trance. He said, “M’lady,” and his voice sounded strained in his own ears. Nicholas turned back toward Martin and said, “This is Harry, my Squire,” as his companion came down the gangway, carrying Nicholas’s and his own travel bags. The boy dropped them on the ground and bowed before the Duke of Crydee. Seeing the Princess and her companion, he grinned broadly.
Martin indicated that Nicholas should ride in the first carriage with himself and his lady. Harry began to walk after them, when Amos’s hand again descended and gripped him by the shoulder. “The first carriage is for the Prince, the Duke, and the Duchess. The second is for myself and the Duke’s children.”
Harry said, “But—”
Amos pointed to the wagons. “You can make sure your Prince’s luggage is in order as it’s unloaded and packed on yon wagons. Then you can ride one of them when you’re done.”
Nakor and Ghuda came down the gangplank and Harry said, “What about them?”
Nakor grinned. “We’ll walk. It’s not that far.” He pointed to the castle on the hill overlooking the harbor.
Ghuda said, “I could use a little stretch.”
Harry sighed and took the two bags over to the first wagon. A drover said, “Here, boy, what’s this?”
Harry was in an ill temper and snapped, “Prince of Krondor’s baggage! I’m his Squire!”
The man made a lazy salute as he continued to lean against the wagon and said, “Then where will you be wanting that lot, Squire?” He pointed.
Harry turned and saw the first load of luggage coming off the ship, as a pair of sailors carried one of Nicholas’s heavy trunks down the gangway. It was followed by three more like it. As the creak of wood and the hum of ropes filled the air, a large cargo net from deep within the ship’s hole rose majestically into view. Another dozen trunks and other assorted baggage was hauled over the side and lowered to the quay. Dock hands jumped to and began unfastening the net.
The drover said, “And I suppose you know where that lot’s to go, Squire?”
With a sign of resignation, Harry reached back into the wagon and pulled out the two bags that had been his and Nicholas’s source of clothing and personal items for the weeks they had been aboard ship. Obviously, they would be among the last pieces to be loaded. Shaking his head, Harry said, “And I’m supposed to supervise?”
With a knowing wink, the drover pushed himself away from the wagon. “It’ll go faster and be easier on us all, Squire, if you do your supervising from over there.” He pointed to a doorway a dozen yards off. “Nice ale, good meat pies, and you can supervise through the window.”
Harry’s mouth watered at the thought of meat pies after the ship’s plain fare. But he said, “No, I have my duty.”
The drover shook his head. “Then do us both a favor, Squire, and supervise real quiet-like, if you catch my drift.”
Harry nodded and moved out of the way as the first pair of trunks were carried over to the wagon. He found himself a shady patch under the overhanging roof of the customs house and leaned against the wall. Glancing up the hill, he could see that Ghuda and Nakor were already leaving the dock area and walking up the broad street that ran through the town to the castle. They would most likely be in the castle a hour before Harry. Muttering to himself, Harry said, “I thought this was going to be interesting.”
—
AS THE FIRST carriage rolled into the castle courtyard, two rows of soldiers snapped to attention. Each wore the brown and gold tabard of Crydee and carried a shield with the golden sea gull of Crydee upon a brown field, and from each halberd a brown and golden pennant hung. Their armor shone in the sun. As a coachman opened the door and Nicholas stepped out, a short, bandy-legged man with grey hair and a leathery face shouted, “Salute!” At once the soldiers snapped to attention. The halberds dipped, and after a moment the company of soldiers pulled them back. Martin and the others stepped out of the carriage, then the drivers urged the horses on to the carriage house in back.
Nicholas took a good long look at his new home. Castle Crydee was small in comparison to what he knew. There was an ancient keep, around which a single surrounding building had been erected, and l
As if reading his mind, Martin said, “My great-grandfather took this keep from the Keshian garrison stationed here, and built the wall around it.” With a half-smile that reminded Nicholas of his own father, he added, “My grandfather built the two additional halls, leaving little further room for growth. Father planned on pushing the wall out to accommodate new growth…but he never got around to it.” He put his hand upon Nicholas’s shoulder. “I never seem to find the time, either.”
A large black-skinned man, with a short black beard, walked slightly behind the short grey-haired man as the pair advanced between the lines of soldiers to come before Nicholas. They both bowed to the Prince.
Amos grinned at the short man. “Swordmaster Charles!”
Martin said, “Highness, my Swordmaster, Charles, and Horsemaster Faxon.”
Nicholas returned their salutes with an inclination of his head, and spoke a few words to Charles in a foreign language. The Swordmaster bowed and answered in the same language. Then in the King’s Tongue he said, “You speak excellent Tsurani, Highness.”
Nicholas blushed. “Only a few words, really. But all in the court know of Uncle Martin’s Tsurani Swordmaster.” To the dark-skinned man he said, “And Horsemaster Faxon.”
Faxon said, “Your Highness.”
Martin introduced other members of his household, and when the formalities were over, he took Nicholas by the arm. “If your Highness will come with me.”
Martin and Nicholas mounted the steps to the castle, while Martin’s children and Abigail followed, heading back to their own quarters.
Briana turned to Amos. “We’ll have a reception tonight, but in the meantime, we’ll have someone show you to your quarters.”
Amos said, “Just tell me which room, my lady. I lived here too many years to get lost.”